


Clear and Grey

by adnauseam



Category: Original Work
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/F, Fantasy, Loyalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 01:45:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17633729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adnauseam/pseuds/adnauseam
Summary: Tirne would do anything, but to do nothing is a different matter.





	Clear and Grey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosabelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosabelle/gifts).



 

They fled from the citadel deep into the night, running on aching, stiff legs, staggering forwards through fields with two yellow moons squatting swollen on either side of the sky. In the forest it was darker, the stars obscured, wolves howling loss and rustling close, though none came within sight.

Without armour to shield her – it was too noisy, too suspicious – Tirne felt vulnerable, exposed, and her neck was prickling at the back, as if some grand knight was bearing down on them, mace swinging. But they were all alone. What did they matter now?

They stopped only when Ria at last fell forward onto her knees, panting with exhaustion, gulping in air, hands clenched in the dirt, staring at nothing. She had been shut up in a cell for weeks. There had been no way to get her out more quickly, Tirne knew, but still—

After some seconds, she said: “I will light us a fire. We can stop here.”

Ria nodded. There was such little light to see by, only glimmers of moonlight, coming from two directions and crossing over each other, melting, melding.

 

“There must be news you have to tell me,” Ria said, head bent over in concentration, cracking open an ertnut.

“What do you want to know?”

Ria straightened up and sighed. “I don’t know. What has he done? Are my sisters— Have they—?”

“They’re alive.”

Ria absorbed this. Her hands were in fists. There was a weighted silence until Ria said: “So they have betrayed me,” firm and cold. “And the knights?”

“They too—”

“Right. I see.”

“My queen, I must—”

Ria laughed at this. “I’m not your queen. Clearly.” She shook her head. Tirne thought that she looked unbearably, beautifully regal, sitting beside the fire with her jaw firm and her eyes cold and pale and glittering just so. She looked as though she could be on her throne still, and it made Tirne sick to think of _him_ , sitting where she should be, proclaiming orders as if he had any right to, and it made her even more sick that she could visualise him so exactly, sitting all narrow and pinched and sallow. His crown gold.

“Did that little manservant of his recover from the blow I gave him?”

“Regrettably,” Tirne said; she suspected that his shoulder would bother him for some winters to come, but he was not seriously injured, and it was not his physical health that was important anyway. Even as they spoke, he was probably plotting.

“I should not like to think I went without a fight.” More bitterly: “I suppose the new king is secure by now.”

“I think so,” Tirne said. She did not wish to, but it was true. There had been barely any struggle.

“Then I suppose that is that,” Ria said sharply, rising. “I assume you packed pallets?”

“Yes,” Tirne said uncertainly. “Ria—” There was silence for a moment. “It’s two days journey to Torr from here, on foot.”

“Torr? We’re not going to Torr!”

“I sent out a message to Gerda. She’s waiting for us.”

“I don’t want to find Gerda. I don’t want—"

She stopped. Tirne watched her.

“Well, what’s the use!”

“She would find you an army. She would—"

“An army of farmers and bakers, marching in cloth with sticks. Marching to slaughter. He won’t give the throne up. He’d run this land into the ground if I tried, you know he would, and it’s not fucking worth it. I don’t want the throne. I don’t want it!”

“Ria—” Tirne was suddenly aware that her tone had turned pleading, that they were both shaking. The firelight danced wicked over Ria’s jaw, her eyes, her fine nose.

“He’ll make a fine king.”

“What sort of man—who would do this to you, to get his grubby hands on _your_ throne—he’s not a man worthy of the throne!”

Oh how dishonourable he was! How he had smiled when Ria was declared barren, how he had laughed when she had protested, how smug he had been in self-deferentially offering himself as ruler, how ruthless, how hateful, how they had all shuddered in loathing.

Or, how she had thought they had all shuddered.

“It’s not about worthiness. Not anymore. He’ll be a fine king. I’m done with it.”

“He’s cowardly, ignoble, base!”

“He’s not foolish enough to treat the kingdom badly. Perhaps it will even thrive. He _is_ ignoble, I know he is, but it doesn’t matter. Don’t you see?”

She did see. But it seemed to her incomprehensible, that Ria would—would—

“Give up!” she said. “You’re giving up?”

“I’m done with this. I know that — I know that— That—"

“Well, what?”

Ria met her eyes. “You have no reason to follow me. Tomorrow I will head for Aras. You may go where you wish. I will release you. I will—" She shook her head. Turned away. There were spots of pink high on her cheekbones.

Mute, Tirne stared at her helplessly.

 

The morning dawned grey and lovely and clear, with mist and dew and buttercups pushing up from the earth to shine cleanly in the dark of the wood.

They stood with their feet firm in the soft ground and were quiet.

“I will not go anywhere,” Tirne said. “I will follow you always, if you’ll have me. I will be beside you always.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to -- well, _everyone_ on the discord, but particularly Karios for looking this over in the early stages.


End file.
